Under the overpass
I lay here only just
breathing
In the dark
The sound of the
nearby creek
Tickles my ear and
I want to crawl
toward the sound to the
Cool water
But all of my
bones are broken.
“This will be my
Last Summer” I think
As I lay dying
And then I wonder if that
Will be my last thought
Or maybe it will be
The memory
of you
And me
and the
fireworks.

*Hi there. Sometimes my mind goes to dark places. Now you know. Ahem…This was a poetry writing exercise from the book Writing Poetry From The Inside Out. The exercise is to come up with a poem out of four words. The appendix of the book has a section of word clusters and I like to shut my eyes and put my finger on a set of words and see what comes out. This dark poem/story came out of these four words a couple of weeks ago. And then, weirdly, I found this lone shoe in the forest. I think I read too much Stephen King when I was a teenager.